


✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  you belong with the wolves  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

by bisexualklausmikaelson



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 02:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualklausmikaelson/pseuds/bisexualklausmikaelson
Summary: However long a time may pass, according to the eternal laws governing the combinations of this eternal play of repetition, all configurations which have previously existed on this earth must yet meet, attract, repulse, kiss, and corrupt each other again.





	✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  you belong with the wolves  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Hi! Can you write something about Hayley meeting her parents? And maybe she sees similarities with her and Klaus in them?

―

Time is infinite, but the things in time, the concrete bodies, are finite. 

― 

She’s waited her entire life to meet her parents.

And to think that they’d actually be reunited, in the after life. Her tale must be a tragedy of sorts - a storybook girl and her golden daydreams of a mother who bakes beignets and a father who loves to paint.

Hayley sighs, it’s almost uncanny.

“Sweetheart,” her dad calls her, and it eerily reminds her of someone she used to know. “What do you think?” He asks, pulling his brush away from his canvas.

The she-wolf crinkles her nose and stares at the work before her. Inhaling the scent of acrylics, old paint water in a cup, strokes decorating his sleeves, the way the colors softly press against the skin over his old wrinkled hands. Like sweet nectar pouring out of a flower. All bright and yellow.

She rolls her eyes, even her father’s paintings were exactly like ―

“Looks like a tree,” she says, nonchalantly, hiding every sense of emotion she had. Concealing her need to scream, to break the canvas in half because it’s all too much.

Because, he used to paint trees like that as well. 

“You’re as helpful as ever, Andrea,” her father laughs, “Sorry, I mean, Hayley,” he corrects, watching her offer him a smile before leaving the room.

The after life was definitely strange.

― 

In the nights, Jackson and Oliver huddle up next to her around a bonfire and it’s like, all is forgiven. This is a different world - and nothing makes sense - except that she is here, with the wolves.

And at the sight of the moon, they like to howl.

It’s like it’s raining cicadas while the turning tides go from blue to green to bright gold - where dust amber and wildfire explode in the skies - dewey mornings with a cigarette between her lips, a girl in love with herself and all her demons. 

(She sighs, knowing how much her daughter would’ve loved this - how her father would’ve been proud).

“It’s better this way,” she tells herself, shaking her head - better that they not join her in the after life. Wherever they are, they make a difference.

And here - well nothing matters - it’s like a dream.

(a nightmare).

― 

Hayley Marshall is stuck - reliving the same day, over and over, again and again.

Nietzsche would’ve laughed - his theory rang true after all, in some weird, fucked up kinda way - that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

The she-wolf wants to tear her hair off - she was never this person. She grew up on the Archie comics they stole from gas stations as kids and the J-14 magazines Molly would sneak in to their hide out while they skipped biology.

Now, she was rummaging through her mother’s library, reading about old philosopher’s and their theories because, for god’s sake, she was bored out of her fucking mind―

“Mom?” her voice rings, weak as the stars.

“Yes dear? Is everything alright?” the old woman asks, with a trembling tone.

Hayley pauses, looking away. “Do you ever get the feeling that something’s missing?” she releases, while her gaze is fixed at the pale moonlight.

“Your daughter.” her mother concludes. “You know, I waited here, years and years, just to see you - if I can do it, so can you,” she reassures her.

However, she cannot explain the oceans in her veins - unbearable pain - like kissing an old lover under the sea, like two sunfish, yellow canary birds, Saharan deserts - she did not understand at all. 

“But, you have dad to keep you company. I don’t have someone who shares my pain up here,” Hayley reveals.

“Perhaps,” her mom shrugs, “loneliness can be a blessing as well dear. It reminds us that we are all unique - no one can match up to the silence in our heads,” she smiles weakly, reminding her of rainy nights in New Orleans and Rebekah’s pout, Freya’s voice while she sings by the kettle, Elijah making tea, Hope running around, Klaus’ frown― 

In the end, her mother was like him as well - never too good with words.

― 

The probability of a world coming into existence exactly like our own is nonzero. If space and time are infinite, then it follows logically that our existence must recur an infinite number of times ― 

The she-wolf rereads the same writings, over and over, wondering if Nietzsche even knew that a world like hers had ever existed. Where the wolves run free, where it’s just forests and barns, lakes and rivers, the crisp full moon forever stuck in a paradox.

Every ancestor who has ever lived - dancing.

“If you keep this up,” she hears someone say, “I’m going to have to tell your parents on you,” his voice, it’s almost to similar to another wolf she knows.

And no wonder - since walking her way, in the middle of the woods, is none other than the grandfather of her child.

“Hey Ansel,” she whispers softly, like a babe.

He sits beside her, grabs her book away. “So,” he starts with, “Is this your way of holding on to him?”

“To whom?” she wonders, raising a brow.

The older man throws his head back in laughter. “Whom else?” he questions, but she offers him nothing but sadness in return, Maybe because, she wants to hear him say it. Even Ansel hadn’t spoken about it, ever honestly. “My son, Niklaus, you’re waiting for him, aren’t you?” he finally tells her.

the she-wolf lulls back, her head sinking into his shoulder. “It’s selfish of me, isn’t it?” she whines, a tear rolling down her cheek. “To want him to die, just so I can see him,” she admits to him, realizing just how fucked up it truly was.

But, she could’ve help it.

She missed him.

“We’re only wolves - selfishness is part of our nature,” Ansel whispers to her.

“We run in packs for a reason,” she says, disagreeing with him entirely. “We care for each other,” Hayley reminds him.

And this time, Ansel is the one who wishes to be forgiven, for even the stars, heck, even the sun is not enough for him. He wants it too - as much as the sea wants to kiss the shore, as much as Venus wants Mars, as much as Mercury wants Jupiter.

“I think of him too,” he confesses. “I also think of the fact he killed me - then, I move on,” his tone is harsher now, cut-throat and deadly. Cold, devoid of any emotions whatsoever.

Hayley knows then that this truly is Klaus’ father after all. Mikael was cruel in the obvious way. Violent, uncaring, ruthless. But Ansel, he was cunning, calculative, purposeful in the pain he inflicts.

Just like Klaus is.

She wonders if that’s worse. 

“Will you ever forgive him?” Hayley asks him instead.

“Will you?” he shoots back, thinking he’s got her cornered. 

Instead of offering him an answer, she looks off in to the distance again. “I don’t know.” Hayley sings, sounding lost.

― 

And Nietzsche says―

However long a time may pass, according to the eternal laws governing the combinations of this eternal play of repetition, all configurations which have previously existed on this earth must yet meet, attract, repulse, kiss, and corrupt each other again.

So it’s bound to happen.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But someday, she was going to see him again.

And until then, all she can do is wait.

―


End file.
